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Out of the mist
Captain Haril paced his ship, as was his morning habit. The sight of the rising eastern sun reassured him, but not today. A cloud of fog had descended over his vessel, the sun barely a greasy smudge in the distance. Below his feet, the deck oscillated with the rise and fall of the sea. The ship was small, so he could feel every wave against the vessel's hull. He made his way to the bow and looked out. The others were still sleeping below decks, only Haril and the helmsman were awake at this time. The navigator had put their position at just west of the island of Grillath. He would have been able to see it if it weren't for the fog. Last night they had dropped anchor to weather out the night. Today, if the fog cleared, they'd be back at Highgriffon in two days time. Haril was pleased by this. After two weeks fishing they had a substantial haul. More than enough to tide him over for at least the next month. Haril smiled, remembering that he had initially been against travelling further north into the Infinite Sea for chances at a greater catch. Grav'il had convinced him in the end and for that Haril was grateful. 'Disgusting morning isn't it, captain?' Grav'il himself had woken and joined him on the bow. Grav'il held a cup of stew, still steaming. That meant the cook had woken as well, Haril thought. 'T'isn't nice. Unless it clears, we're stuck here.' Grav'il took a sip from his stew. 'Milik won't like that. He owes someone back at port. Has to pay him back by Thursday night or. . .well he didn't say, but it's bad.' Haril could believe that, the first time he'd met Milik he'd been a stowaway on Haril's boat, running away from some debts back home. 'I'm sure it'll clear though. Fog like this burns itself out in a short time. I reckon by lunch we'll be off.' The masts above creaked as a particularly boisterous wave rocked the deck. 'Think I'll see the cook, now that he's up.' he gestured at Grav'il's stew. 'He's in the kitchen. Must warn you though, he's in a sour mood.' Gav'il was not wrong. The cook was definitely in a bad mood. 'No bloody sleep' He grumbled as he heaped a steaming pile of stew into a cup, mostly missing, and splattered it all over the floor. The ghostly stains on the planks below betrayed the signs of hundreds of similar incidents. 'It's the stink.' he continued. 'Oh yeah, you're all right aren't you? Your cabin's at the bloody back of the ship. AND you've got windows! Well guess who's bed is right beside the bloody cargo hold, bloody disgusting.' He handed the stew to Haril. Who simply nodded, everyone knew the etiquette when it came to the Cook's ramblings. ( of which there were many ) Those who refused to listen to his enlightened and informed opinion were traditionally given significantly smaller helpings for the next few days. ( Or whenever the cook got bored of the grudge) Sometimes Haril wondered that whether the ship was actually the cook's and the captain simply owned it. Still, Haril conceded. His foul moods were few and far between and there was no better chef in the sea. (A point the Cook is passionate about spreading as often as he can ) 'I'll see that I get you a different cabin on our next trip.' Haril said. The cook smiled. 'Aye you can be a good cap'n sometimes.' he snatched Haril's stew back and added another healthy scoop to it before handing it back. Haril accepted it as a good omen and went back to his cabin to get his jacket. When he had finished his meal and emerged above deck again, the others had awoken from sleep and at their duties. The sails were being made ready and Haril could see the navigator and the helmsman above him, having an argument. He approached them. 'What is going on?' 'Ah captain! Good you're here. Can you tell this idiot,' the helmsman pointed at the navigator, 'why moving under fog, near a coastline, is a BAD idea?' 'I never said it was a good idea.' the navigator had a map in one hand. 'See, we're here. And if we don't start moving soon, then we could be stuck here when the tide turns. The currents are strong and if we try to move then, we could be washed up against the land.' 'Listen, Mr Maps. Do you feel that?' the helmsman motioned for silence. 'See, no wind. we couldn't get under way if we tried. The fog's sucking it all up.' 'Uhh there is a wind.' the navigator replied, 'A small one mind but enough to budge us away from this area. The going would be slow, but that's better than being stuck here when the sea turns against us. Besides, we have oars don't we?' 'Captain, please? Will you. .' 'Ship spotted!' One of the crew below yelled. Haril and the others, argument momentarily forgotten, turned to this new disturbance. The crew member was pointing out in the fog. Haril followed his gaze and saw a dark smudge amid the haze. Whatever it was, it was close, just close enough to see through the dense mist. And on fire. Haril saw an orange glow radiate from the middle of the ship. Bright flashes sporadically appeared in the glow. Flames. 'All crew to the oars!' Haril shouted. 'Weigh anchor!' he turned to the helmsman, 'Get us to that ship! They haven't got long.' He nodded, 'Aye captain!' their previous dispute forgotten entirely now. Haril's ship leapt into action. Rowing oars emerged from the flanks and the vessel began to lazily turn as the anchor was retrieved. It wasn't far to the flaming vessel, they would be there in minutes. Hopefully some of the crew were still alive. Men shouted and oars paddled. Haril was almost there. Men on the bow were attempting to signal the stricken vessel. 'Cap'n!' A crewmember shouted ' Another ship to port!' Haril looked. Another dark silhouette. It was on fire as well. The ruddy orange glow penetrating the fog. 'Two ships?' the helmsman asked. Haril had no explanation, this was very peculiar. 'We'll come back for that one, we're almost at the first!' The outline of the first ship was forming out of the fog. Haril couldn't spy any sail masts. They must have burnt in the fire. Lucky Haril's boat was close by, he thought, a ship with no masts would have been stranded in the middle of the sea. So close now. The outline was getting sharper, its size also came into view for the first time. It was significantly bigger than Haril's ship. Perhaps twice the size. His crew on deck were now shouting at the shadow. Trying to draw attention. Trying to listen for any cries for help. And then, the flaming ship began to turn. Its dark outline shifted position. Haril could tell it was turning towards him. How? It's masts were gone. Haril's wrists began to itch, as they did whenever something didn't feel right. The ship, still on fire, continued to turn and drift closer. Many of his crew were confused as well. What was this? Slowly the ship began to form from its outline. Haril's mouth opened as the ship's hull came into view. Metal! The entire ship was made of metal! How did it not sink like a stone? The paradoxical ship steamed ever closer and Haril thought he could make out a sound, drifting through the fog. Metal on metal, like a blacksmith's hammer, only deeper and more frequent. Then he realised. This new ship, with its metal prow pointing towards him, was not slowing down. 'Hard to starboard!!' he yelled at his crew. Looking back at the approaching vessel he realised they were not going to avoid collision. They were moments away from impact. Haril grabbed the side rail. He saw the helmsman clutch onto the helm. The navigator had joined him on the side rail. Below him on the main deck, his crew began to panic, some scattered out of the way, others tried desperately to warn the ship to stop. Like a slowly drifting iceburg, the iron prow of the unknown vessel collided with Haril's flank in an almighty crash. Timbers split like twigs under its advance. The sound was deafening. The deck beneath Haril's feet shook uncontrollably. It threw him to the floor. The helmsman fared better, managing to remain upright. The ramming ship continued onwards, its momentum too great for it to stop. The midsection of Haril's ship tore apart like fabric, several crewmembers fell into the voids split open in the deck. His masts tumbled beneath the onslaught, rigging ripped free and flailed about. One crewmember was caught in the head with one of the main sail ties. Kgs worth of heavy rope knocked him over. He didn't get up again. The thunderous noise calmed as the ramming ship finally ground to a halt. The two interlocked vessels now drifting in the current. The shrieks of tortured wood surrounded Haril as his ship lay dying around him. The bow was already beginning to subside into the sea, he has no doubt it would drag the stern down with it. The cargo hold had been split open as a tide of fish started to spread out from the breach, creating a blanket of floating fish spewing out of the opening. My ship bleeds, Haril thought. He sought the Helmsman. 'Are you ok?' 'yeah, fine' They both looked around. They found the navigator and a crewman who had suffered a bad head wound. They would need to find the doctor. Haril looked once more at the vessel that had broken his ship. Fully constructed from metal, the only wound it had suffered as a result of the collision was some shallow scratches down its side. Haril noticed a red and white flag painted further down the ship's hull. Golden writing on its prow flowed in a script Haril couldn't read. His gaze drifted back along the ship to the orange glow. Haril was astonished. What he had taken for a mid-ship fire was actually half a dozen flaming furnaces. Their view ports glowing red hot from the fires within. What kind of ship is this? he thought. Movement near the top of the armoured prow. Ropes were flung over the side and figures began to climb down onto the deck. They were creatures Haril didn't know. Their faces long with black and white fur covering much of their skin. They wore black uniforms with red and gold trimming. They all blackpowder weapons. The intruders immediately started to spread out and round up any crew members still conscious. Several marched over to Haril. 'Hey! What are you doing? Get off!' One hit his stomach with the end of his rifle and dragged him and the others down to the main deck. Water had begun to creep onto it. Shouts of protest were heard from other members of Haril's crew but they were similarly dealt with. In total Haril counted around 14 of his crew gathered together in the centre of the deck. The creatures surrounded them on all sides, weapons aimed. 'What are you doing?' Haril asked them. No response. 'Do you understand me?' again no response. Out of the group strode the leader of the party, or so guessed Haril. This creature's uniform was more finely decorated than that of its colleagues. It approached the group. 'Hallus si fictor mari caportum?' It asked the crew. Haril slowly approached the creature, hands up in a gesture of no harm. 'Hello? We don't understand you. Do you know any Grassik?' The leader regarded Haril curiously. 'Deleus gratum pius ai sic bullia?' It asked him. Haril shook his head, ' I'm sorry, I don't understand you. ' 'Ai sic bullia?!' the leader repeated, more agitated. Haril was shaking 'Listen, I'm sorry but I can't understand what you're saying!' The leader sighed and spoke to one of its colleagues and started to walk away. Its colleague nodded in reply, raised its weapon and shot Haril in the chest. Haril felt as if something had punched him hard. He fell to the deck. He tried to breathe in but his lungs refused to inflate. He thought he could hear other shots surrounding him, but they were being drowned out by his own heartbeat. It filled his ears as he attempted to roll over. Gasping for air, he made it onto his back. Moving his eyes about he could see the creatures returning up the ropes to their ship. The leader one was ordering them up in his alien tongue. With great strength he turned his head to look out into the fog. He could see more of the orange glows in the distance. He turned his head back round to look up at the sky when he realised he could no longer hear his heartbeat. . . .